


Like Falling

by kayceeagitate



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Post-Mission, Semi-graphic violence, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayceeagitate/pseuds/kayceeagitate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha finish a mission with Natasha in need of a little TLC. Clint is more than happy to give that TLC. [Better description of tags in end notes for concerned citizens.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Falling

**Author's Note:**

> They're not mine blah blah blah. I don't have a beta reader so any errors are mine. (Please let me know if anything is super awful.) Jump to the end notes for a more detailed description of the tags if you have concerns about the content before reading. Hopefully someone out there likes this and if not, I at least enjoyed writing it!

She had barely made it back to the motel room, her clothes still soaked in blood, when Clint slid in through the window, quiet as a ghost. He never used doors if he could get away with it when they were on missions. She might have taken the same way in if her knee didn’t feel like it had knives stuck in it that were constantly moving and grinding into the joint. She had already wiped the blood away that had spattered across her face before she had made her way back but her clothes were still soaked with it though it was hidden by the black of her sweater and jeans. The blood that had landed in the blonde wig she wore had dried enough that it looked like streaks of brown hair mixed in with the blonde and it was fortunate that they were in such a seedy motel for this mission because the clerk hadn’t even bothered to look up when she had come in to notice that her hair had changed color since she had left.

She was leaning against the door, head tipped back, eyes closed, as Clint stepped up to her with footsteps only loud enough so she wouldn’t startle. He combed his fingers through the wig, pulling pins out, until he could push it off her head to land in a heap on the grimy brown carpet. She almost protested but it was already beyond saving. He left her hair in its bun for the moment and eased her away from the door. “Tasha,” he murmured against her ear, “shower.” She let herself be led into the small dingy bathroom and stood still as Clint turned the shower on. She felt numb while he carefully removed her clothes before he stripped his own off and stepped her into the shower. He was businesslike while he scrubbed the blood from her skin, careful of the wound on her knee that he had already stitched closed, and massaged shampoo into her hair. He made quick work with the soap on himself before he rinsed them both and guided her back out of the shower. The towel he wrapped her in felt cheap and scratchy against her skin but she remained quiet as he sat her down on the closed lid of the toilet. She watched dully as he dried himself off and went back into the room with the towel wrapped around his waist. He came back with her comb in his hand and nudged her around so he could stand behind her and comb her hair. It was getting long again and he put it in the two braids she favored for sleeping. Whenever he braided it for her, she wondered where he had learned. The one time she had asked, he said his mother had taught him when he was small and his mother’s arm was broken the summer she was pregnant with the younger sibling that he had never known. It seemed plausible but Natasha thought with some certainty that Clint had had a daughter that he had raised on his own at least for awhile before his life had become S.H.I.E.L.D. 

She didn’t speak until she was tucked up in bed in clean underwear and Clint’s spare t-shirt. She watched him as he moved around the room in just his jeans getting their things repacked to leave in the morning. Her voice sounded very small and young in a way that she had never been when she said, “I think I’m losing my edge.” Clint stopped what he was doing and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. She shifted so that she could lay her head in his lap. “I think…” he said softly, “that all weapons break, even sexuality.” His hand was warm through the t-shirt as he rubbed slow circles across her shoulders. “You’ve always been good with adapting when something happens to your weapons,” he finished. They shifted again so she could wrap her arms around his hips, press her face against the bare skin of his stomach just above the waistband of his jeans. Her eyes fell closed as she breathed in the clean, warm scent of him, wanting to forget the bullet wound in her knee, to forget being pinned underneath a heavy, hairy man as she bled, to forget the putrid breath that had puffed hot and sticky against her face, to forget how hot his blood had been on her skin when she had finally managed to grab her knife and slice it across his jugular.

Her eyes flew open, lashes fluttering across the skin she was pressed against. The muscles under the skin jumped, clenching. She’d forgotten how ticklish he was here. Her hand moved, nails running lightly down his side. Clint squirmed a little and a noise sounding suspiciously like a squeak caught in his throat. Natasha felt a very small smile trying to work its way onto her face. Then her attention shifted and she slid lower, stroking along the fly of his jeans. His breath whooshed out as if he had been punched. She popped the button and pulled the zipper down so she could press her mouth against the thin cotton covering where she really wanted to be. Clint’s hand smoothed over her hair then he moved two fingers under her chin, tilted her face up. “Tasha, baby, no, you don’t need to do that.”   
She curled her fingers under his waistband and pulled down, uncovering his cock. “Ptichka, I want to.” And she did, though she loved him for always giving her an out no matter how turned on he was by her, even if she had already started something by choice, because sex was her weapon but never with him. She never had to use her weapon against her will with him.

And then she had her mouth on him and could feel him hardening more. His hand came back to smooth over and over her hair, the other clutching the bottom sheet. He was biting his lip, tiny sounds just barely escaping. He always kept himself quiet, at least until he was closer to coming and she wanted him in her before that happened.

She pulled her mouth off him and slid up his body to meet his mouth. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, savoring her. And in their moments like this, just after missions, he was always so utterly gentle with her, as if she was glass, as if she might break. It made her feel like something precious, like she was deserving of love. Then she was shifting, shifting, pushing her panties to the side to slide onto his cock. Her injured leg was stuck straight out with a pillow under the knee while she knelt on the other one. Clint’s hands rested lightly on her hips to hold her steady. She started moving and his hands moved down to cup her ass, callous rough fingertips just barely digging in as he helped her ride him. Natasha gripped the back of his the neck with one hand, her other reaching down to rub her clit lightly.

His sharp breaths and tiny sounds soon became a quiet litany of “Baby, god please, baby, you feel so good. That’s it, baby. Come on, I wanna feel you come.” His soft words broke her down and before she knew it, she was gasping and squeezing around him, her nails scratching into his shoulder. “You’re so gorgeous, baby, fuck,” he said just before she was at his mouth again. When she pulled back again, she said, “Come in me, ptichka, fill me up.” He groaned, eyes so incredibly blue, and flipped them so she was on her back, losing some of his gentleness as he fucked her, chasing his orgasm. She clawed at his back, feeling herself getting close again, just as he came, nipping lightly where her neck and shoulder met. She was about to be disappointed about not getting a second orgasm when he moved again and she gasped sharply when he suddenly sucked hard on her clit. He was so good with his mouth. Her hands grabbed at the sheets and it was all she could do to practically sob, “ptichka pajalsta.” Then she was coming again. 

She flopped back against the bed, slowly catching her breath. Clint moved to lay next to her and caught her hand with his. “We’re going to need another shower,” she said after a few moments. He turned his head, meeting her eyes. “In a minute.” 

The minute never happened. He pulled her over and wrapped his arms around her and before long they were both asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Sex tag: The sex is fairly graphic, hence the explicit rating.
> 
> Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault: Non-graphic description in the story but could be potentially triggering given the description of her being trapped under a man.
> 
> Semi-graphic violence: Natasha cuts the throat of the man trying to assault her.
> 
> Blood: There's a lot of it, folks.
> 
> Other final notes: "ptichka" is my transliteration of Птичка, which is a diminutive version of "bird" in Russian. "pajalsta" is my transliteration of Russian for "please". I don't really know much Russian besides the Cyrillic alphabet and a few words, so if you do speak Russian and I am totally wrong, please tell me! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3 Kay


End file.
